


L'appel du vide

by listlessness



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Loneliness, M/M, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Whump, all hurt minimal comfort, graphic depictions of running, space travel, symbrock big bang, the art of deflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 21:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18836740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/listlessness/pseuds/listlessness
Summary: The call of the void.Eddie finds himself teetering upon a precipice of no certain return. If he topples over the edge, he'll be flung into a stomach-lurching terror of uncertainty. If he leans back, he'll be forced back into the arms of wider society. He's not sure what terrifies him the more.Emotional wounds are harder to heal, and his newest companion has no idea where to start.





	L'appel du vide

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my piece for the [Symbrock Big Bang](https://symbrockbigbang.tumblr.com/). A huge, huge thank you to both Destimushi and Icarusinflight for setting this up, and I'm so pleased to be taking part!
> 
> I'd also like to extend a massive thank you and congratulations to the two wonderfully, outstandingly talented artists who have created beautiful artwork to go along with this. Firstly is by [A Dumb Tree Draws](https://adumbtree-draws.tumblr.com/), and the second is by [What, no pictures?](https://whatnopictures.tumblr.com/). Please go and send them your love, as they're outstanding.
> 
> Finally, a massive thank you to [Zuzeca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuzeca/pseuds/zuzeca) who has beta'd this twice for me. They also have their own incredible big bang fic, so please go and read it!

Eddie ran. 

His feet hit the pavement, heavy and loud. He could feel the pavement, hard and unforgiving, through his socks and shoes. His feet smacked against the ground, over and over. The fragile, tiny bones in his feet bounced against the ground, the shock ricocheting up, from his heel and arch, to his instep and ankle. It rebounded over his shins and to his knees, up to his thighs, where sweat clung to the insides of his shorts. His hips grew tight and his glutes tensed and strained as he propelled his weight forward. 

Whenever people found out he had taken up running at thirty-six, they'd suck their teeth and click their tongue against the roof of their mouth in disapproval. _That's bad for you_ , they'd say, tutting their faux concern. _You'll develop arthritis._

He wouldn't. For one, studies had actually begun to prove the opposite, and that those who ran regularly actually avoided arthritis at higher rates than those who didn't. And, for two, he had his own personal parasitic companion to mend the cartilage that housed his bones. Eddie had many concerns in his life, but arthritis wasn't one of them. 

Despite that, the pavement could be a cruel master. He was told, again and again, that he should stick to the grass. Particularly in the early morning, when Eddie preferred to run, it would be cool and springy, providing a cushion for his joints that even the most scientifically constructed shoes couldn't allow. He hated the grass, though. It slowed him down, required a level of attention that the level ground of pavement erased. He didn't want to focus when he ran. He wanted to go black, to tune out the world around him, develop a level of static provided by his feet and his own breathing. 

The early daylight had just begun to stream in between the buildings from the east. The city had barely begun to wake. At this time of day it was usually just him and the combination of third shift workers finishing and first shift workers starting. He'd skitter around them, occasionally huffing an apology as he bounded down hills and fought against gravity to climb them. Sweat dripped down his spine and to the dip in his back. His tank grew damp and clung to him. 

He had a preferred route. Down O'Farrell, along Starr King Way and up Gough, to Bush. Up the steep hill along Broderick Street, towards Sacramento Street. He'd pass a tree, its roots visible through the concrete. A ginger cat watched him suspiciously from a fence. Some days he turned left and started down the steady hill, while his short route had him going right. Today was a right kind of day. He'd pass through Pacific Heights and Polk Gulch, streets and suburbs he knew like the back of his hand. There was a comfort and familiarity in it, along with a sickening resentment for having remained static for so long. 

As the burning in his lungs grew, Eddie spun around the corner to the start of his block. The alarm on his watch began to buzz, a reminder he needed to head home in order to start the rest of his day. With sweat dripping from his hands, he fumbled for his watch and turned it off after a couple of slippery attempts. Nearing his door, he came to a skittering finish, and began to cough into his bicep. The tremble in his thighs was minimal compared to most days, Venom already at work at removing the lactic acid build up and repairing torn muscle fibres he had damaged in that morning's run. 

Grabbing the front of his shirt, he mopped his brow, dug his fob key out from his zipped-up back pocket, and went to buzz himself inside the building. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the first horn sounding of that day's traffic jam. There was no escaping the call of the morning. 

* 

It astonished people to a degree that Eddie had never understood that he kept business hours. While freelance journalism did allow him a certain level of freedom that the typical nine-to-five drudge didn't allow, it didn't mean he couldn't keep some kind of regularity. His quote-unquote ' _employers_ ' (if he chose to call them that) needed to know when they could reach him. His contacts also required his availability. While there were definitely days when he joined the night-shift and prowled the streets under a cover of darkness, he didn't make a habit of it if he didn't need to. Most of his writing was done during the morning, and his meetings were held in the afternoon. People liked rhythm and habit, and Eddie was no exception. 

It turned out, too, that a certain alien runaway Eddie now called friend and housemate appreciated a schedule. Although Eddie had yet to quite figure out all the secrets Venom kept, it seemed that the symbiote had been part of an army, or at least a unit that worked together as a team. A _laissez-faire_ , bohemian lifestyle didn't suit him, and he seemed to fret on the weekends when Eddie didn't stick to his schedule. While he didn't need a rigidity that was stifling, Venom did seem to stew if something threw them off a rhythm. Surprisingly, Eddie found himself leaning back into his usual weekday routine, even on a Saturday and Sunday. 

His days had fallen into a pattern. Between Venom's craving for routine and Eddie's own desire, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Although he wasn't an early bird, he did like being out of bed by seven AM. The days seemed longer, and although he didn't really need to leave the apartment until nine (on days when he needed to leave the house at all), he found he achieved more by waking up well before then. He'd take the long way to work, if he was going into the office, sometimes even foregoing his bike to walk through Jefferson Square park, or the Raymond Kimbell playground. He'd follow the path he ran during the day, pointing out the sights to Venom as he did. Sunlight changed so much, and Eddie rarely saw it unless he made the effort to go. 

The walk through the park specifically would lead him to his regular coffee shop. It was by no means his favourite, but the prices were more within his regular weekly budget, and it wasn't so busy he couldn't get himself a seat four days out of five. Venom didn't quite enjoy coffee the way Eddie did, and even a mocha was distasteful to him. 

**_This is a waste of perfectly good chocolate, Eddie._**

The words would come, coated in an accusatory tone that had Eddie rolling his eyes as he planned his next article. Venom uttered it every time, and Eddie began to expect it. It itched if it wasn't said. And each time, he'd ignore Venom as he sat in the coffee shop, occasionally catching the odd first-timer seeing him while he sat sandwiched between old-timers. Eddie's face hadn't yet truly faded from the collective public memory just yet. 

MNBN were trying to convince him to start his TV show again. They would scope out his articles, the editor-in-chief, Anthony Tremaine, eyeballing his stories with a keen eye and then, with dripping sincerity, point out how this would make a fantastic lead story for the Sunday night show. Eddie had begun to deliberately take on pieces that couldn't be cut and rearranged on an editing room floor, though it was beginning to become difficult. There were only so many ways to rearrange a pyramid. 

While he did have a preference for human interest stories, he thought in moving images. He'd picture the aerial opening shots, the close ups of wringing hands and pursed lips. He'd hear the voice-over in his own Brooklyn-cum-Chicago tone, the sound of jail cell doors closing or the image of a child hugging a filthy stuffed animal as they let out a heart wrenching sob overlaying it all. Trying to translate that into a written piece, between fifteen hundred and two thousand words, was difficult to do. He felt like he was back in college and he had a professor telling him he needed to stop speaking in pictures and start talking in words. 

This morning's email was no different. He eyed the _To:_ line, then the empty _CC:_ line. He wondered if anyone had been BCC'd into the email. Sometimes he had a queasy feeling that Anthony's emails were also being sent to Eddie's old boss, Jack. If a story became popular enough, it would be turned into a television episode. That was how the industry worked. He just wondered how long it would be until he was back in front of the camera. 

In the back of his head, he could feel Venom churning. Eddie's thumb ran up and down the edge of the coffee mug he was holding. There was a bubble in the varnish. His nail caught on it as he took in the small corrections Anthony had given him. It was nothing major, and nothing to worry about, beyond the concern that it was all pointers to make his article more television-palatable. Just the feeling alone made him feel queasy, and he regretted asking for full cream milk. 

**_Stressed, Eddie?_**

Taking a deep breath in through his nose, Eddie found his attention being drawn towards the tightness in his chest, and the way his heart had begun to beat faster. Swallowing hard, he raised the coffee to his lips, but didn't take a sip. He could hear the voice-over in his head now. 

_In thousands of coffee shops throughout America, you will find them. Your eyes will cast over them, but never see them. They are America's alone and lonely._

God, that sounded pathetic, even to him. It was a good thing he wasn't in TV anymore. His narration had fallen to the pits. 

**_Stressed?_** Venom repeated, a little more insistent. He was looking for a potential threat; Eddie could feel it. 

'No,' he replied into the mug, before tipping it back and swallowing the last dregs of the watered-down mocha. He'd been dipping the end of a cookie into it, and the crumbs landed on his tongue. 

Venom seemed unconvinced. He lay nestled at the top of Eddie's spine, wrapped around his cervical vertebrae. There was a faint hissing sensation as Venom extended through his body, from the base of his skull, down to his arms and towards his legs. It had become a familiar feeling, like breathing or popping his back in the morning. He wasn't sure how he'd feel if he were to lose it again. 

Eddie's eyes fell to the blank _CC:_ field again. He'd gone for a run that morning, and his legs still faintly burned. He told himself (and, by extension, Venom) that the remaining tremor was simply the dregs of lactic acid, and not a gut-churning fear that he might be getting roped back in front of the camera. 

* 

_To: jack.d@mnbn.oathinc.com_

_From: ebrock82@outlook.com_

_Subject: Upcoming Articles_

_Hey Jack,_

_Got my latest piece done. Anthony seems pretty stoked – he's been talking about a series of articles!_

_You got a chance to catch up this week? Had some ideas I wanted to run past you about the direction everything's going in. Nothing serious! Just wanted to toss some ideas around. I always liked our back-and-forths. Felt like McCartney/Lennon back then, don't you think?_

_Anyway, hope to hear from you shortly. I'll be in Tuesday._

_Thanks,_

_EB_

* 

Eddie had never had an office of his own. Journalism wasn't a career that really lent itself into being enclosed within four walls, unless one worked on the tabloid rags or certain tween titles that were subsidiaries of teen and young woman magazines. Rows and rows of desks were more par for course, and, in some older buildings, cubicle farms, where walls had been demolished or remade as feel-good pin-boards that Eddie despised. However, being a freelance journalist, he still hit the MNBN offices once or twice a week. He didn't particularly like the visit, but it meant the majority of meetings he needed to have with the numerous editors (all the equivalent of corporate middle management), the editor-in-chief, and, sometimes, the other journalists, could all be done in one hit. 

Most of the faces had changed since he'd last worked there full time. There were a few he recognised, like the senior staff, who would be carried out of the building in a pine box. A couple of the faces who had once been juniors. Up-and-comers who had previously been waiting for a big shot (like he had been) to be knocked aside so they could steal their place, had now fallen into the dreaded quasi-middle management role. Eddie tried to not take it personally. He'd been like them once; desperate for the next story, hungering for the article that would put his name in lights. Every journalist wanted a reader to see their name in the byline and decide to read the article because it was written by _them,_ and not simply because the story was interesting. It just felt sad, that they were no longer hungering for their next break and instead had fallen into a position of security. They, too, would be carried out in a pine box one day. 

A part of Eddie had hoped he'd become more familiar with the faces that now sat at the desks he and his colleagues once occupied. He still had his old coworkers’ numbers in his phone, despite them moving to places like Fox News or The Post or, in one bizarre instance, HBO. He tried not to think too hard about the implications of him floating in freelance uncertainty while still having a tie to his old workplace. 

Eddie didn't even have a permanent desk anymore. He told himself the same thing he always did: he was freelance and he only stopped by the office for meetings. Instead, he would sit his laptop down upon the hot desk and hook himself up to the system (and, sometimes, on good days, he'd only need to call IT once). The hot desk was positioned away from the journalism cattle and faced a large window that looked out over the ocean. It was a gorgeous view. Some days the water was a luscious turquoise, the kind that lured tourists from travel websites, while other days the fog would cover it and render it a mysterious spectacle suitable for a sci-fi novel. Eddie hated it. Once he had his laptop up and running, he could block out most of the view. Having Venom in the back of his head helped. There was a security in knowing that even if for some reason he did topple out the shatter-proof window, he'd potentially survive the fall. 

**_Don't jump. Then we won't have to catch you._**

There was an email in his inbox. It wasn't from whom he hoped. From the hot desk, if he looked over his shoulder, he could just see the edge of Jack's door. It was shut, the light off. Nobody knew where Jack was, just that he was out. Not even his secretary could drop a hint as to when he'd return. 

Eddie shut his eyes, hissing between his teeth, and ignored the email from Anthony. Jack had been CC'd into it. They weren't even being subtle about their desire to get him back in front of the camera any more. Jack didn't deal with written journalism unless it was tied to the taped kind. And, it seemed, he didn't deal with the writers in any capacity. 

'I'm not planning on it,' he muttered under his breath, both as a response to Venom and to the email. 

**_You keep thinking it._**

' _L'appel du vide_.' 

**_I don't understand._**

Eddie just sighed. Closing his laptop, he disconnected the ethernet cable, grabbed his bag, and went to sit in the would-be wanna-be employee lounge. He wouldn't be able to access the servers via the guest WiFi, but he could at least punch out a few more lines of his latest story. 

* 

Eddie stared down at the screen of his laptop. Upon it was a dredge piece about the final meals of death row inmates. It had been posted that afternoon. He hadn't been allowed to remark on his own stance on capital punishment, which was equal parts frustrating and a relief. It meant he wouldn't need to deal with frothing comments in response to the article. However it meant his long-time fans, those who had stuck with him through everything, including the Life Foundation fiasco, would be able to tell he'd been muzzled. It was embarrassing and, in a way, almost shameful. 

He received an email with a notification, along with an invoice for his payment, which would go through at the end of the week. His thumb hovered over the link to the story, but he held back from pressing it. Eddie didn't need to see how few people had clicked on it. The glory days from his time in the sun had faded. Closing the laptop, he slid it into his bag and looked about the scenery of Eagle Point. The first signs of summer were starting to appear. Spring had brought with it buds and nests, and now the flowers had begun to open up and baby birds were crying to their mothers for food. 

He took Venom for a walk down along China Beach via El Camino Del Mar. There wasn't anything to really see; this time of year, more people flocked to the national parks than the beach. The late spring air was encouraging people out for the afternoon, where they could set up picnics on the grass and see the the wonders that winter had kept hidden from them. Even so, the wind by the ocean was still brisk with cold. Eddie liked it, though. It meant he could soak in the quiet. Crowds, where they had once been encouraging and full of potential stories, had begun to feel suffocating to him. 

Somebody was kite surfing in the distance. As he made his way down the winding path to the sand, his shoes crunching on the gravel and dirt that had accumulated on the cement, he watched the person flip about on the board, the sail catching the wind high above them. At the bottom of the path, Eddie pulled off his socks and shoes, rolled up the cuffs of his jeans, and headed along the small cove. On the hills up above, the mansions loomed, a reminder about what could have been. Sure, he never actually believed he'd make enough money to live somewhere like _that_ in San Francisco, but a small part of him had always hoped. He was a guy who'd grown up with nothing, but for a few blissful years, he'd held _something_. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Sinking his hand in, he felt out the home button. It was tempting to push it, to see what notification had come through, but he felt Venom tighten around his wrist. His hand was lifted out as though of its own accord. 

**_Sit?_** Venom suggested, pulling him towards a large, grey rock. 

Eddie ran his eyes over it, searching for something that could leap out and bite him. A spider, a snake, maybe a stray symbiote from the Life Foundation. It had been months, but the concern had never truly left him. He ignored it. Swallowed it down, forced it to the back of his mind. But sometimes he'd find it sneaking up on him. Like a dog at dusk, it would crawl up behind him, snarling and dribbling saliva. 

God, he needed to stop thinking like that. 

Venom, though, was seemingly unconcerned by any such threats, led him over by moving one leg after the other, and finally sat him down upon it. He forced Eddie to set his shoes beside him, socks stuffed into them, and placed his hand back on his lap. Pulling his legs up to his chest, Eddie wrapped his arms around them and looked out over the ocean. His shirt sleeves were pushed up, and sweat had already begun to pool under his armpits. The kite surfer in the distance managed an impressive flip. 

The waves crashed into the shore. His phone vibrated again. Closing his eyes, wishing he'd brought his sunglasses with him instead of leaving them inside the bucket of his motorbike, Eddie let his head fall forward towards his knees. His toes curled around the rock, the sharp ridges of the stone formation digging against his feet. He'd been out of his apartment all day, and all he wanted to do was crawl back inside and slide into bed. 

**_I like the ocean,_** Venom announced. 

He had slithered free. His inky black body slipped down from Eddie's neck and across a shoulder to rest upon the rock. Jerking his head up, Eddie looked up and down the cove. He couldn't see anyone, but that didn't mean no one was about. People always seemed to be about. They had an insidious way of sneaking up on him and surprising him. That had once been Eddie's job, and it had been ripped from his skilled hands. These days, it was other people who delivered bad news, like that he was fired or they were breaking up with him. 

Beside him, Venom looked up at him curiously, then, unperturbed, he settled back on the rock. 

**_I like the way it sounds,_** he continued. **_It's like the wind, isn't it? That roar. Like when we went to the park and listened to it through the trees. I like when we go to the park._**

Eddie wasn't sure what time Venom was talking about. He never went to the park explicitly to listen to the wind through the trees. He'd watch the people around him, couples walking together, parents with children, friends laughing about private jokes. Eddie would watch them as his mind swirled with thoughts, trying to disentangle the knots of ideas that plagued him. 

He tried to picture Venom on the periphery of his mind, taking in the sounds about them. He could almost see him, perched on Eddie’s shoulder, his head turning this way and that as he listened to the wind, the call of birds, church bells in the distance. Eddie almost envied him, being able to take in the small pleasures of life like that. That inability was why Eddie had never been good with pets. 

He wondered what Venom had thought of the birds back at Eagle Point. He wanted to tell himself his alien friend considered them all potential snacks, but his mind couldn't entertain that cynical thought for very long. Perhaps it was even Venom, trying to feed him the truth. 

Venom stretched out. Eddie yawned. Beside him, Venom's lower jaw unhinged as he mimicked the movement, his tongue snaking out to hang over the edge of the rock, rows of small, sharp teeth glistening in the sunlight. Reaching over, Eddie stroked the top of Venom's head, feeling each ridge and dip of his cartilage-built skull. With a heavy, deep sigh, Eddie perched his elbow on his knee and rested his head atop his other fist. Venom tilted into the hand that was delivering slow, rhythmic pats and his skin rippled in delight. 

**_I like the ocean wind._**

'Don't you have oceans where you're from?' 

**_No,_** Venom replied, far quicker than Eddie expected. 

Eddie wanted to ask more, but no words came. His forefinger tapped against what was possibly the symbiote version of a brow bone, a rhythmic motion that had Venom giving off a quiet, rattle-like purr. His eyes closed into thin white lines as he grinned, his jowls exposing more of his sharp teeth as he lifted his head into Eddie's hand and nuzzled for more. 

_Popular advice columns will advise the lonely to seek out animal companions. However, these creatures do not quite fill the void that is intended for human relationships. No person is an island. We all need conversation. We all need communication._

Squeezing his eyes shut, Eddie willed back the hot tears. His throat tightened, a burning sensation that he swallowed down and told himself was only because of the salt and sand in the air. 

'What do you have instead?' 

Venom let out a small grumbling noise that ended with a click. Eddie had begun to take that noise as a filler in symbiote communication, a type of disfluency that characterised Venom's speech. Where Eddie stuttered and stopped and filled his speech with _uhs_ and _ums_ and repeated _wells_ , Venom grunted and hummed and hissed to himself. It made Eddie wonder what his native tongue sounded like. 

**_Primordial ooze._**

'Y'all call it that?' 

Venom lifted his head away from Eddie's hand. Cracking open an eye, Eddie saw Venom eyeballing him. An overwhelming desire to close his eyes overtook him, and as he found himself shutting them, his vision was filled by a pink sky and a frothing, dusk-coloured ocean. The water seemed thicker than the shore they were at, and fog covered the top of the waves. Geysers erupted in the distance. Heat clung to Eddie's skin, humid and suffocating. At first, Eddie assumed it was just the heat from the sun radiating off the beach, until he tried to take a breath and instead tasted sulphur. It lingered on his tongue, reminding him of the acid he would pour down his kitchen sink when it became blocked, and wound up tarnishing the stainless steel a bright green. 

He wasn't at China Beach anymore. He was on a foreign planet, surrounded by thousands of amorphous beings. The ocean was filled with them, the creatures slipping and sliding over one another. The acidic ocean wasn't frothing of its own accord, but because of the creatures swarming inside of it. Eddie was surrounded by them. He was one of them. He could feel them around his legs, clutching at him, pulling at him, down and down. The roar from the ocean on China Beach became a perpetual screech from the symbiotes that filled the planet. 

The stars, somewhere far above, were singing down at them. He could feel the gravitational pull of them, deep, on a cellular level. Somewhere, the roar of Ursa Major called to him, near and haunting. 

With a sharp gasp, Eddie opened his eyes and ran his hand through his hair. It was rare that Venom invited him into his own world, beyond the odd snippet that invaded his dreams. He wasn't sure if he wanted to go back there. 

So many. Too many. 

The tide withdrew from the shore as it was sucked backwards. Eddie watched it go, as it churned and built into a wave several dozen feet away from shore. It came crashing in, stretching up the sand. The tide was coming in. It was claiming the cove as the afternoon sun crept towards evening. 

Up the road, on the hill behind him, Eddie could hear laughter. Without needing to be told, Venom slid onto his lap and tucked himself against his belly. Eddie looked over his shoulder. A family was heading down, a small child on her bike without shoes. The mother was calling for her to be safe, the father carrying what appeared to be a bright, Barbie-pink pair of sandals. 

**_Shall we go home, Eddie?_**

Eddie didn't need to be asked twice. He stood, dusted off the sand that had accumulated on his jeans, and started back towards the path, shoes in hand. Venom shot up the front of his shirt and melted back into his skin by the time Eddie reached the concrete and began to pull on his socks. 

The family nodded at Eddie as they passed. The father did a double take, as if almost recognising him. The daughter gave a small cheer as she sped by on her bicycle, the training wheels bouncing about erratically. He'd rounded the first bend of the path when he heard an ear-piercing screech and the sound of metal hitting concrete. Freezing in place, he looked over his shoulder to see the daughter face-first in the sand, her bicycle upturned and the front wheel spinning about. She'd flown over the handlebars when the bike had hit the sand. 

**_Help?_**

Eddie watched as the parents helped her up, the father dusting the sand off of her scratched knees. 

He shook his head and silently went back up the hill. 

* 

_To: jack.d@mnbn.oathinc.com_

_From: ebrock82@outlook.com_

_Subject: Re: April Meeting & May deadlines_

_Hi Jack,_

_Glad to see the final meal story's been popular. Who'd have thought it, huh? One of the reviewers wrote me about something called death row syndrome – the isolation and waiting for the chair can cause inmates to die of natural causes. Isn't that bizarre?_

_Anyway, let me know when you need me next._

_-EB_

* 

His next faux-journalism assignment came two days after his latest article appeared on the website. It arrived in his inbox at ten-thirty at night. It was after his standard business hours, though his former boss Jack knew he didn't keep them. Anthony, it seemed, was still fooled. His email was politely worded, the kind of thing Eddie would expect to receive during the day. As he sat down at his coffee table-cum-desk, a cup of coffee in hand (unfortunately one of the most revolting pods for his machine, Eddie having reached the dregs of his twenty-dollar sampler). His fingers hovered over the keyboard. 

It wasn't even a veiled offer this time. Perhaps Anthony assumed he could slip in such a request late at night and Eddie wouldn't see it until morning. Maybe he even thought Eddie would see the message at two AM, when most good journalists were fast asleep, and would simply reply with an 'OK', like Julia Mendoza from CBS did that one time when Eddie was interning there as an undergrad. She'd then wound up having to do a piece on illegal immigrants and how they were a threat to the nation—not the sort of story a second generation Latina woman would typically race into agreeing to do. 

Or, maybe, Anthony and Jack had been having one of those late-night meetings that Eddie and his fellow journalists would whisper about over the water cooler behind cupped hands. Town hall-style meetings were something by which they were all eternally threatened. Upper management would make a list of employees during times of transition and takeovers, and they'd play a game of _Guess Who?_ with employees. Instead of being on the chopping block immediately, Eddie had a chance to prove himself and keep his freelance contract for another six months. He just had to dance through a couple of hoops and prove himself first. There was every chance they didn't expect him to see this email until the morning. They potentially saw him as some kind of yes ma'am/no ma'am style writer, who was willing to prove himself to keep his regular paycheck. 

Eddie was no such journalist. He kept ridiculous hours, he fought hard to maintain some kind of regular sleep cycle, and he hated himself for being unable to do so. His eyes roamed over the email once, twice, and then finally, during his third read, he was able to take in some of the words. 

It was a written article for the website, which was par for course. That was his typical fare these days. There was also a possibility of it making newsprint, though that only appealed to Eddie in a wider sense. It was housed in the part of his mind that held nostalgia of SNES games, even though he'd never actually owned, nor played, a SNES. 

It was the second half of the offer that had Eddie chewing on his thumbnail. 

On offer was a twenty-eight minute interview segment. It was enough to fill a half-hour slot on general broadcast. It wasn't just the seven-to-twelve minute segment to slip into the wannabe-but-not-savvy-enough MNBN version of _60 Minutes_. Apparently it was for the Friday night info-tainment, current affairs program they were trialling. 

That was the end of Anthony's email. It explained why Jack had been copied into it, his name blatantly and clearly put on display in the _CC_ line of the email. 

Eddie wasn't sure what part bothered him the most. For one, he hadn't been given a real scope. That was definitely frustrating, put mildly. Eddie _hated_ those journalistic assignments, when he had no idea what to bring to the table. It became a guessing game. A wide scope was, in his experience, one of the most narrow margins. The editors knew precisely what they wanted, but they wouldn't reveal it until the last minute. It was a guessing game until the end. 

For two, Eddie had told himself he didn't want to be in front of the camera again. The mere thought had him holding his breath and closing his eyes as he took a moment to collect himself. 

Pulling his laptop closer towards him, his coffee cup changing hands, he read the email for a fourth time and murmured the words under his breath as he tried to find some catch, some kind of phrasing that revealed just what story Anthony wanted him to do—and, how potentially, he could get out of it. 

_The wilfully lonely often attempt to find clauses and caveats to avoid social interaction. Despite seeming to go against logic, the rules and restrictions provide a sense of security that social interaction prevents. The wilfully lonely can control their own depression by keeping it intact._

Rubbing his brow, Eddie screwed up one side of his face and set his cup heavy on the table. It caused the laptop to rattle, as well as the plate from his dinner that he had yet to wash. Venom, who had been resting ( _not_ sleeping, as he’d hissed irritably in Eddie's mind as he coiled up like a cat some hours before), looked up and gnashed his teeth quietly in Eddie's direction. Sliding his eyes to him and then away, Eddie shook his head and closed the laptop. 

When no immediate threat appeared to explain Eddie's sudden spike in anxiety, Venom's teeth retracted back into his mouth. He lifted his head, nudged forward, and then glanced at the screen. Eddie still wasn't entirely certain if Venom could actually read, but he certainly gave a good impression of it. 

**_Eddie?_**

'Later,' he muttered, standing. 

Leaving the cup and plate on the table, Eddie turned off the lamp and shuffled to his bed. The apartment was never truly dark. The streetlamps were visible through the blinds and curtains, no matter what he did to secure them shut. Eddie was used to sleeping in a twilight state. 

* 

Eddie ran. 

The sun had begun to crest over the horizon. April had begun to dribble into May, and, like a burst water main, the warning drops of sunlight had spilled into an early dawn that flooded the sky. Eddie watched the pink and orange streaks tease across the asphalt hill as he forced himself up Filmore Street. The email from the night before pounded into his head with each step, his shoes doing little to save his feet from the impact. He couldn't shake the words from his mind. 

He turned left onto Sacramento Street. Venom was twisting around his spine, his cool body dipping down into the musculature of his thighs. The buildings towered either side of him. Coffee shops were beginning to open, though it was still too early for customers to come by for their wares. It was just Eddie and the other spooks who haunted the morning. 

His heart pounded. Venom twisted tighter. Adrenalin pulsed. The email kept pulsing in his head, constant and repetitive. It wouldn't be budged. Over and over, a beat as constant as his feet on the pavement. Venom wrapped tighter, moving down his knees and to his ankles and feet. 

Moving. He just had to keep moving. 

As he reached the apex of the hill, there was little reprieve, from neither the difficulty of the run, nor a calm in his mind from the email. The tall hill immediately went into an incline, slow and steady, with no real breaks. Venom stretched down his back and into his hips, wrapping around each joint to ease the pressure Eddie was inflicting upon them as he barrelled forward. He'd looped around Union Square the morning and had run down Market Street before turning onto Fillmore. His six mile run had turned into seven, and Venom was unhappy with the sudden decision to change. Eddie was unsure who had grown accustomed to the routine more: himself or his parasitic buddy. 

He hit the end of the block. He turned. Sprang off the ball of his foot. Venom helped propel him forward. 

He knew this street well. He could run it at four AM, when the world was asleep and even the streetlamps provided minimal illumination. He knew the tree that hung over the path. He knew the trash can that never seemed to be emptied or cleaned with any regularity. He knew the ginger cat that watched him from the top of the fence with a judgemental gaze. This street corner was like a refreshing glass of cold water. If the hill he had climbed was a foe, then this corner of the road after the long descent was a beloved friend. 

Venom was his friend. 

The email was not his friend. It filled his mind with unnecessary chatter. The words had long lost meaning but the intent was there. Anthony and Jack had conspired against him to get him back on TV. He was a cash cow they had been fattening for the slaughter. He had fallen from grace, and they had been feeding him scraps to see how he'd recover. The public were ready for him again, their appetites whet by his public shaming with articles about how home décor influenced public policy, and potatoes that looked like Disney Princesses and how that was marginalising girlhood. The most recent articles, a step towards what he had once been known best for, had been taken well. The public hungered for more. 

Venom shifted, uncomfortable. 

They all wanted to drag him back on TV. Kicking and screaming if need be. Hell, maybe that would be better for ratings. 

Venom turned restlessly. 

The trash can had been emptied. Eddie had never seen it empty before. 

He took a step forward. 

The tree betrayed him. The streetlamp betrayed him. The cat betrayed him. 

The roots had overgrown. The lightbulb was blown. The cat leapt out. 

Eddie reached for the trashcan but it's empty state had him confused and he couldn't figure out its size, its shape anymore. He groped at thin air and hit the ground. 

The concrete skinned his hands. Blood bloomed from his elbow. His ankle swelled and he felt something in his foot crack. 

Laying there, Eddie let his cheek press to the cold ground. With a groan, he shut his eyes and let the sweat pool on his brow. It caused dirt to stick to him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Scratching the ground, he pushed himself up and over, onto his back. His head throbbed. 

The sky was dark, but the light pollution from the city erased most of the stars from the sky. He wondered, if he concentrated hard enough, if he'd feel the pull of the stars like he had when he'd witnessed Venom's home of primordial ooze. He wondered where Ursa Major was. 

**_Should have listened when I told you running was bad._**

'Mm-hmm.' 

Eddie lay there, his hands folded on his chest. The pain throbbed. It didn't cease. 

'Gonna help?' 

Venom twisted inside of him. Eddie could feel something akin to a tail tapping on his hip, a faint swishing back and forth in a way that might be considered irritable. If he closed his eyes, he could picture Venom ignoring him, trying to pretend he hadn't just witnessed Eddie tripping and falling, much like a cat would. Eddie had never really been a cat person. 

Somewhere to his left, he could sense the ginger cat. It was likely Venom's superior, reflexive senses that kept track of the animal as it bounded off into the distance. He wondered why Venom could watch the small animal, and not keep track of the cracks in the pavement. Running was an escape. He needed it. It gave him a reprieve from the emails, from Anthony and Jack, from the threat of TV cameras and reviews and articles and comments and the fact that he had once, _once_ , been the inimitable Eddie Brock, and now he was just a shell of that man. 

As though spurred on by that thought, Venom begrudgingly pushed Eddie up into a seated position. The grazes on his hands and elbow were healed, and the slight throb in his foot was reduced. The bruise on his pride was still in place, though. Rubbing his chest, Eddie rest his hands on his lap. He tapped each finger to his thumb, his mind reeling. 

**_Eddie?_**

Shaking his head, Eddie pushed to stand. He was up. 

He slid a hand down to the opposite wrist and wrapped his fingers around it. He never wore his bracelets when he ran, but he suddenly wished he had something there, even a watch. 

Turning to the direction he was meant to be running, he looked out at the hazy darkness. If he continued on this loop, he'd have another two miles before he could turn back and head home. He turned on the foot that he had potentially sprained, feeling the pressure in his ankle where Venom had yet to heal the strained muscle, and pivoted in the opposite direction. 

With his shoulders sagging, he heaved a deep sigh and started slowly back towards his apartment. 

* 

_To: jack.d@mnbn.oathinc.com_

_From: ebrock82@outlook.com_

_Subject: Re: Future Projects & TV opportunity_

_Hi Jack,_

_Can I have more parameters on this story you want me to do? Who's the target here? I've never been good at that Friday night time slot. You know me, buddy. Prime time or no time, am I right?_

_Thx,look forward to hearing from ya,_

_Eddie_

_*_

China Beach had begun to pick up tourists. The permanent springtime fog had started to lift, and so did the cameras. A cloud still existed around Eddie though. He sat on a park bench above the cove one afternoon the following week after going A over T on Sacramento Street. On his lap, Venom nibbled at a plate of diced, raw potatoes. Eddie's own meal, a half-attempted sandwich with a slice of deli ham that he had peeled out and folded in half on the plate for Venom to pick over. So far not even Venom had done more than just lick it curiously. 

**_People,_** Venom pointed out helpfully as he chewed with his mouth open and eyeballed the people down on the cove. The words echoed in Eddie's mind the same time as Venom spoke. 

They were situated in a position where Eddie and Venom could eyeball the tourists, but it would be tough for the tourists in turn to see them. It gave Eddie a feeling of security. He was part of the crowd but still separate to it. There was still the odd occasion when someone might do a double take, look back over their shoulder and whisper to a companion that he was _that journalist_ , but nobody truly stopped to talk to him. If anything, their current spot actually reminded him of his _vox pop_ journalism days. 

It had been that kind of public persona Eddie had wanted when he'd enjoyed his job. It was a type of quasi-popularity that meant his peers admired and respected him, and he was a semi-recognisable face to the general public. He had liked that area. It was rare that he signed autographs, though selfies with fans weren't a completely unknown occurrence. Now, though, his name was still spoken with a twinge of reluctance and unease. He pretended to not see the winces in his peers’ faces when he entered the office and announced he was attending that afternoon's meeting. 

It was unlikely to matter now. But as he sat there, picking at his teeth and wondering if the mustard he'd used on his sandwich was off, he began to worry someone might look up. He didn't want to look like he was gawking. 

'Yup. Sure are people, Vee,' he finally replied, popping the _P_ s as he reached about for the bottle of water he'd brought along. 

**_Can we go down?_**

'Not today, Vee.' he said quietly, scratching Venom idly behind towards the back of his head. 

Looking up at Eddie, his neck stretching out, Venom narrowed his eyes. The white markings that tracked over his skin turned a shimmery pink. Lifting his chin, he began to grow long, his puddle form lifting up to match Eddie's eye line, before Eddie reached a hand and gently coaxed Venom back on his lap. 

**_I like people._**

'I know you do. But not today.' 

**_But when?_**

'Later.' 

That didn't seem to satisfy Venom. He chittered, annoyed and confused, and wrapped himself up in a tight knot. Spiralling towards the remainder of his potatoes, he let his tongue slip out. It looped around a potato cube, drew it back into his mouth, and crunched down upon it. Eddie could occasionally feel it with his own teeth. It made him shudder, his nose twitching as he tried to get the feeling of raw potato from his mouth. It didn't really work. Sometimes he'd get a whisper of a taste, sometimes he'd feel the satisfaction Venom did when he ate. He imagined it was how Venom felt, when he could experience certain sensations Eddie did. A ghost of experience. 

**_You need people, Eddie._**

'You're not the boss of me.' 

Venom lifted his head. He was still chewing, his mouth open, bits of potato dropping. Eddie idly dusted off his lap, far too used to Venom leaving far worse behind. As he sat there, though, he could feel Venom's eyes on him. He was irritated. Eddie could feel it coming in waves, a series of pulses that left him feeling hot and nauseated. 

_The popular concept of Jiminy Cricket as a representation of one's conscience can also be used as a way of dealing with self-censorship. We all have a voice in the back of our head that wants to guide and lead us. At what point, though, do we ignore that voice and push it aside? How willing are we to go against our own better judgement?_

Rubbing his thumb over his head, Eddie huffed and rolled his shoulders. 

'We should head back.' 

**_Stay, Eddie?_**

'I want to go.' 

**_I want to stay._**

'No- ' 

**_Yes!_**

Groaning, Eddie found himself trapped upon the bench. Venom had shot down his legs, encasing them in black under his jeans. They were heavy and immobile. Squeezing his thighs, finding them stuck in place, Eddie slumped against the back of the bench and threw his head back to gaze up at the sky. With a deep, frustrated noise, Eddie forced himself into a standing position. Grabbing the remains of their lunch, he fought against Venom's tight grip and staggered from the park. 

* 

Back when he had his own parking spot, Eddie would ride his bike into work each day. He'd often go out scouting for reports after his allocated time in the office, so having his bike was particularly handy. However, after he'd been fired and unceremoniously rehired on a purely freelance basis, Eddie couldn't quite justify the costs involved with riding it. The parking for his bike was a nightmare when he was still counting his pennies for the communal laundry facilities in the apartment basement some weeks. 

Despite what some people at the office would believe, the walk wasn't that bad. It took just under half an hour, and some days Eddie even found himself wandering around Union Square, simply to eyeball the shop fronts of Moncler, Gucci, and Bulgari. Although Eddie's interest in fashion was limited at best, something about those windows reminded him of Anne and the life that had once been. He also liked to think of it as a way to introduce Venom to another side of humanity, that he perhaps missed in the shabby, rundown place Eddie now called home. 

The meeting Eddie had that morning left him wishing he'd bothered to take his bike. His gut wrenched and churned, and he briefly considered calling an Uber. He could even feel Venom trying to tug his hand towards his pocket where his phone lay, his fingers itching to swipe to the app. He wanted to head east. He couldn't really see east all that clearly, but he could picture the national parks, the hills, the mountains that just lay beyond. It would be wonderful to go out there, to climb up high and distance himself from what had occurred. 

**_Walk, Eddie?_** Venom suggested. 

A tendril emerged from Eddie's palm. It twisted and coiled against his hand, the end tapping between his fingers. Closing his eyes as he took a moment to collect his thoughts, he nodded and let Venom lead the way. 

Anthony and Jack had railroaded him. A part of Eddie had known it was coming. He couldn't avoid the inevitable for long. Eventually they would come, they would pin him, they would force him back into doing what he did so well. He belonged in front of the camera, they said. He should get back out there. Eddie still wasn't so sure. 

**_You like it, though,_** Venom said as he sifted through the active thoughts that spun through Eddie's mind. **_Why don't you go ahead with it?_**

Eddie swallowed hard as he headed for home, wandering past the the various museums and art galleries along Mission Street. 

'I just don't,' he mumbled under his breath. 

Venom shifted inside Eddie. His tendril wrapped around one of Eddie's fingers, creating a thick, black ring for Eddie to rub his thumb over. Taking a deep breath, he kept his eyes ahead as he took one step after another, forcing his way back home against the tide of people, who all seemed to be heading back to work. 

**_I don't understand your contrary nature, Eddie. You have been wanting to get back to hard-hitting topics, but now you're refusing. Eddie, your behaviour makes no sense._**

With a deep grunt, Eddie carded his fingers through his hair. It had grown long over the past few months, and although he'd been hacking at parts of it to keep it out of his eyes, he was beginning to begrudgingly accept perhaps he ought to be seeing a hairdresser sooner rather than later. For now, though, he dug his hand into his hair and pulled at it to stop himself from snapping at the voice in his head. 

'People are complicated, Vee,' he muttered under his breath, trying to avoid letting anyone see or hear what he was doing. 'Just because we want something doesn't mean we should actually have it.' 

This caused Venom to grow quiet. He mulled over the idea. Eddie could feel him prying into it, looking at it from all angles. Curling his fingers into his palms, wishing it was actually cool enough to wear a jacket so he could shove his hands into his pockets, he sighed and kept his eyes to the pavement. He could feel Venom peering about, staying aware of what was happening as Eddie forced himself to walk quicker. 

**_I would like you to do it._**

'I don't want to.' 

**_It might be good._**

'Nope.' 

**_I like your stories._**

'My- my _what_?' Eddie repeated, baffled. 'My _stories_?' 

Venom made a wavering, clicking noise. There was a feeling of him shifting in Eddie's mind, as though he was trying to escape Eddie's accusations. As Eddie's mind churned over, he could feel Venom sliding through his memories, rifling through them as he picked out pieces he liked. A piece on homelessness across the bay, the demolition of low-income housing, a spate of burglaries that targeted the elderly. They were stories Eddie hadn't thought about in far too long. As his pace slowed and he began to take his time walking home, he felt Venom touch against all of them quietly, thoughtfully. 

**_Didn't these bring you joy? People enjoyed them. You showed the world that they were important to tell._**

Letting out a huff, Eddie swallowed hard and finally shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Venom continued to drift through the crevices of his mind, searching and wandering, and finding the whispers of memories Eddie had pushed away over the years, some deliberately, some not. As he pushed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, felt his throat start to constrict and burn, he mentally shoved Venom away. No. He didn't want to go about exploring all of those just yet. 

**_Eddie,_** Venom murmured. **_I would like you to consider going back to what you enjoy._**

Taking a step to the side of the path, Eddie shut his eyes. He sank into the side of the wall of a nearby building, and forced himself to take a deep breath. 

'Please,' he whispered. 'Just... let me get home first.' 

Venom chirped. Ever so slowly, he began to unravel, away from Eddie's mind and then down his neck, back to house himself in his chest and around his spine. Suddenly released from the turmoil in his mind, Eddie forced himself to continue back home. 

* 

Eddie couldn't say why it bothered him so much, the idea of going back to television journalism. He had always loved it. Even when he'd been figuring out his own personal style when he'd been in college, he'd found himself pulled to it. Investigative journalism was so rewarding and it leant him a freedom and creative that other styles didn't necessarily have. All other formats were stifling. 

But investigative journalism had led him down the path of destruction. Not just once, but twice. The first time had been rough enough, being chased from a city he'd loved and called home. San Francisco was a warm second, but unlike the first time, when he'd managed to maintain some integrity by those who had known him, this time he'd lost his friends, his fiance, his finances. He'd damn near lost his life. 

None of it could be chased from his mind. Jack had emailed him some documentation about what they were looking for in his television piece. His quasi-series on the for-profit prison system had become unexpectedly popular, and MNBN wanted to cash in on it. Laying back on the couch, his stomach churning and his heart beginning to pick up, Eddie grit his teeth and stared at the screen of his laptop that sat upon his chest. 

**_Eddie. It's been three days. Eddie._**

A thin, black tendril appeared from over the top of the laptop screen. Very slowly, Venom closed it, and looked up at Eddie from behind his own tail. He had shrunk down to a small, worm-like form, two large, white circles making up the majority of his head. Eddie's thumb rubbed back and forth on top of the laptop before he sighed and shut his eyes. 

'He's impatient.' 

**_He can wait._**

' _No_ , he can't.' 

Venom's snout screwed up. Squinting at Eddie, he slithered over, covering the Acer logo. His eyes bored into Eddie, the tip of his tongue slithering out to taste the air as he looked Eddie over. Something in Eddie’s gut twisted again and he turned away. The sky was a blistering blue. It looked gorgeous outside. 

There was a twitch from Venom. Eddie's eyes darted back. Venom’s lips curled over his teeth, his long, twisting tongue slipping back inside. The white streaks which covered his body flashed a bright white, pulsing once, before they faded back into his body. Eddie found himself tracing a line. Venom made a sound that might have been a purr. 

'You okay, buddy?' 

Instead of a verbal response, Venom made a strange clicking sound. Waiting all of ten seconds, Eddie tapped him again, his finger sinking into his soft mass. 

'English, bud.' 

Venom bowed his head. His tongue slipped out, licking at the air, as he took his time to reply. Long conversations were a skill Venom was beginning to learn, but still struggled with. Hosts, in his experience, typically didn't want to talk, no matter how communicative they had once been. Eddie wanting to have full conversations (on the rare occasions he wanted to communicate in present months) was strange. He was struggling. He and Eddie were both learning. 

**_Catecholamine hormones,_** Venom finally said. His words echoed inside Eddie's mind as he spoke; speaking via thought was still easier than verbal. **_Increased heart rate. Acceleration of breath. Constriction of blood vessels. Mydriasis. Inhibition of lacrimal gland._**

'You lost me,' Eddie said, shaking his head. 

Lowering his head, Venom's eyes darted away as he seemed to consider what he was being presented with and what to do with it all. 

**_It's like when you run,_** he finally said when he came up with a response that seemed mildly satisfactory. **_Only right now I don't know what you're running from. There is no motivation—though, truthfully, I do not understand your motivation when you run in the morning._**

'Running's good. It gets me out of the house. You're always telling me to get out more.' 

This caused Venom to growl a little irritably. He didn't want Eddie getting out of the house like _that_. But it made Eddie smile all the same, and Venom nudged him a little when he let a smile cross his face. 

**_There is no perceivable threat I can resolve, Eddie._**

Stress. Venom was picking up on Eddie's stress. And, with no apparent physical source that could be found and removed, he was beginning to worry. 

Taking a deep breath, Eddie closed his eyes. He had no idea how he was even meant to start explaining the emotional turmoil he went through to Venom. The klyntar race as a whole didn't seem to experience the same emotional rollercoaster humans willingly put themselves through. Justice and morality had to be taught to Venom. Trying to explain the concept of low mood caused by a chemical imbalance was a little beyond him. Hell, even other humans didn't always understand—how could he expect an alien creature to? 

But Venom's mind was there, poking around in the crevices and corners of Eddie's anxieties. He could feel the cool, almost sickeningly sweet sensation of Venom trying to slow his racing heart rate. A wash of warm water went over him as the hormones that were pulsing from his mind were suddenly soothed and evaporated from his bloodstream. A tremble in his hands was muted, his desperate need for oxygen filled. The tightness in his throat remained, though, and he could feel a hot prickle in his eyes. 

**_I wish to help._**

'I don't know if you can, Vee.' 

**_But I would like to._**

'Because I'm your host?' 

There was a small half-grunt. Then, **_because you are my friend._**

The words, simple and probably not deeply considered, caused something to twist inside Eddie. A deep, sharp ache overtook him and he rolled onto his side, clutching at his chest. His laptop slid down and onto the couch. One of the Venom's tendrils wrapped around it and carefully slid it down to the bed. He seemed utterly confused by what had overtaken Eddie. A large question mark appeared in Eddie's mind as he reached down and took hold of Venom. Hauling him towards his chest, he clutched onto Venom tight and let his face burrow into the mass of tendrils that made up his body. 

**_Eddie?_**

'Please,' Eddie whispered into the wiggling body. 'Please, can I just hold you for a little bit?' 

The question mark lingered in Eddie's mind. But, slowly, Venom began to relax. His mass of tendrils congealed together to form a singular, round shape. His head nuzzled under Eddie's as he stilled. There was a small flick of his tongue against Eddie's skin on the underside of his jaw. Eddie didn't mind; he just took a deep breath, felt Venom sink partly into his skin, and held him closer. 

* 

Venom didn't understand. There were so many nuances, so many strange irregularities that he didn't quite _get_ the way Eddie sometimes expected him to. But he tried. He tried more than anyone Eddie had ever known had. He didn't understand just why Eddie needed to hold him, he didn't get why Eddie didn't want to talk about it. These ideas raced through Venom's mind, Eddie picking up on the tail ends of each of them. 

Maybe Venom didn't understand, but he tried. And, right then, Eddie needed someone to try. 

* 

Eddie ran. 

His pace had dropped over the past week. He couldn't find a physical reason. His diet hadn't changed, his sleep, while erratic, hadn't been so drastically restless as it had once been. Venom told him that he wasn't physically injured. Something about that phrasing chafed, but he didn't force Venom to correct himself. 

He was, for all intents and purposes, physically fine. Somehow, though, that still didn't rest easily with Eddie. 

_At what point do we stop? At what point do we finally listen to that voice in our head, the one that tells us it's okay to pause and breathe and witness the world around us?_

The night had been warm, and he could feel the humidity clinging to his skin. Cutting across the blocks at night, he found himself being pulled to the coastline directly north of his home. It wasn't far, and the run barely took him twenty minutes. But he headed as directly to it as possible. Up Van Ness, until he hit Black Point. It was a derelict, concrete wasteland, with the Maritime Museum in one direction and a foggy outline of the Golden Gate Bridge in the other. But the warmth of the morning left him mopping sweat off his brow with his shirt, while Venom peered out as a bracelet on his wrist. 

**_I like this place, Eddie._**

The words turned around in his mind. Although they were alone, Eddie furrowed his brow and tried to send back a single large question mark to Venom, the same way that had been communicated to him. There was a pause, a click, a grumble. Then, after a breath, Venom replied. 

**_It is different. Thank you for taking me somewhere different._**

Eddie smiled. His fingers brushed over his wrist as he leant against the railing that overlooked the pier. 

* 

_To: jack.d@mnbn.oathinc.com_

_From: ebrock82@outlook.com_

_Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Future Projects & TV opportunity (2)_

_hey jack_

_thx for extending the deadline. It was good to meet w/ you &Anthony. The framework is appreciated._

_Is Angelina really not available? She used to shoot for me all the time way back. Id rather stick with someone i'm familiar with, if i'm going to be back in front of the camera..._

_hope to hear from you soon!,_

_eb_

* 

Another meeting with Jack and Anthony. Another meeting where Eddie walked out with a pounding head, and exhausted heart, and a tremble in his hands. Venom slid down his arms, careful to hide in the shadows of his shirt, to maintain an illusion of his tattoos growing longer, wider. A tendril nestled in the palm of Eddie's hand as he rode his bike back to China Beach. 

They sat on a bench, overlooking the ocean. There were people down in the cove, playing and frolicking about in the mild summer air. If Eddie squinted, it looked like a man was standing in the water, wearing an out of season shirt, which read _MERRY CHRISTMAS YA FILTHY ANIMAL_. Eddie wondered why he was wearing it in mid-May, but decided not to linger on that thought for too long. It actually made Eddie want to talk to him. 

Running his hands over his knees, he watched as Venom slid out from under his hand and wrapped around his fingers, his wrist. Cool and smooth, he crept up Eddie's arm and draped over his shoulders. 

The deadline, despite being pushed back, was still looming on the horizon. A hard knot formed in his stomach, and Eddie had no idea on how he was going to start disentangling it. The prisoner series had somehow, strangely, taken off. A few interviews with prisoners had become a quasi-investigation into the daily routine of prisoners locked in for life or on death row. It was incredibly macabre, and Eddie wasn't sure how much longer he wanted to stay on it. But the advertisements were hot on those articles and money was rolling in, and Eddie Brock, famed and disgraced reporter, was once again a cash cow. 

God, it made him sick. 

**_You are not as wound up as you typically would be,_** Venom said, slithering up to his shoulder. **_This is good._**

'Is it?' 

A child gave a cry of delight down on the shore. Lifting his chin, Eddie peered as best he could over the small cliff facing. Venom did the same, his head held high as he peered into the craggy depths below. Eddie could catch a glimpse of what he saw if he concentrated, but it typically made him dizzy. He already felt off-kilter enough, after that meeting. He didn't need to exacerbate the issue. 

**_I still do not understand why you step down. You haven't signed a contract._**

Eddie twitched. He felt Venom staring at him silently. 

'It's... it's a sense of duty, Vee. Jack hired me when nobody else would.' 

**_He is also the one who fired you._**

'Yeah, but... that was for a good reason.' 

Venom made a noise that could have been considered a growl. It was a deep, unearthly rumble which echoed in Eddie's bones. He twisted and grabbed at his shirt. He didn't like it when Venom made that noise, the one that reminded him about how empty he truly was on the inside. His own empty life, with his own empty issues churning around in the depth of his belly. 

In the back of his mind, he felt, rather than heard, Venom click. It was another strange, unearthly sound. It was primal, a deep, reverberating noise that seemed to come from the base of his throat. Closing his eyes, Eddie felt Venom slide up his arm and around his shoulders to nestle in the crook of his elbow on the opposite side. 

**_You aren't alone, Eddie,_** he said. His voice seemed deeper than normal, as though it were rolling around in the base of his throat. **_I promise you. You will not be alone if you chose to separate from the safety blanket of your own meaning._**

Although the choice of words grated on Eddie just a little, he knew what Venom was saying was true. Swallowing hard, feeling a lump in his throat, Eddie lifted a hand and ran it down Venom's head. He knew he wasn't alone. Not any more. 

* 

The signage from outside the apartment kept the room lit. Eddie's Google history was filled with a variety of eyemasks to block out the light, but he had yet to hit the order button on any. Some nights, Venom would laze across his face, soft and silky smooth. Eddie didn't necessarily sleep any better, but it did calm him down. 

That night, Venom took him through a journey on the tail end of a nebula. They were atop a rock, the chill of space all around them. Eddie was unsure if this was a dream or a memory or some combination of both. They were all alone, but neither of them were afraid. The comet was cold to touch, but the air around them was warm. It tasted of sulphur and ash. Eddie watched as gas rippled around them, artificially coloured like the photographs he so loved to look at online. Holding up a hand, it seemed to trail on and on, off to join the nebula as they hurtled deeper into space. 

He woke refreshed. Eddie had no idea when he'd fallen asleep, or if he even had. But as dawn began to cross the sky, he lay in bed with his arms tossed above his head as though he were in a skydiver's free fall. 

**_Run, Eddie?_**

Eddie yawned. His feet hurt. When he spread his toes, he could feel a pinch in his instep. It was likely nothing. A tender spot, perhaps even a tendon that had been aggravated at some point. Venom would be able to fix it, if he asked him to. But he'd also slept in a strange position, and his shoulders were tight from having his arms thrown above his head. He could go for a run if he wanted to. They were only minor gripes and nothing to get hung up about. He'd gone to sleep on less sleep, when it was raining and his joints hurt, when it was still pitch black outside and the sun had yet to make itself known over the horizon. 

But he didn't want to. 

Rolling over, his back to the window, Eddie groped about for Venom. Closing his eyes, he tugged the slippery symbiote to his chest and nuzzled back into the pillow. With a yawn, he shook his head. 

'Let's sleep a little more this morning, bud.' 

Venom clicked thoughtfully. A large question mark filled Eddie's mind, thrumming with suspicion. But, when Eddie's breathing began to even out, Venom, too, settled and fell into a light doze. He could always go for a run the following morning. 

* 

Eddie's birthday was coming up. He could feel Venom poking around at that concept, curious and intrigued. He nudged at the corners of Eddie's memory, of parties and cakes and presents. None of them were really memories of Eddie's own celebrations, but that of classmates and friends and ex-partners. 

They walked from the parking lot, where Eddie's motorcycle overlooked the ocean, to the cove with which he and Venom had become familiar. Venom liked this spot, where he could watch the birds and smell the water. Eddie liked it because on afternoons like this, it was typically quiet. 

Rolling up the cuffs of his jeans, Eddie let his feet dangle into the cool ocean water. Curling his toes, he watched as the salty water swirled around his feet. The silt and sediment underneath him was kicked up by the action as he splashed at the water. Curling his toes, he worried his lower lip as he let his legs swing back and forth. Already his jeans were getting wet, but he couldn't bring himself to care just yet. Maybe he would, once the water had dried and the salt and sand remained to scratch and irritate his skin. 

'When were you born, Vee?' 

On his shoulder, Venom appeared. It probably wasn't the smartest thing. It was the middle of a sunny day, with summer breaking through the clouds. He could feel his skin beginning to warm up, though whether it would lead to a burn or a tan he couldn't quite say. Venom had yet to discover how awful the Earth sun could truly be. 

He wriggled down Eddie's shoulder. Stretching out, Venom slid down, growing long, until he landed in a puddle in Eddie's hands. As though he were a cat that had been put in a blender, he twisted about as he made himself a nest, then settled in a happy mass. Eddie didn't quite understand what he was doing, but there was something comforting about it. 

**_Born?_** he finally asked. 

'Yeah. Do you have a birthday?' 

**_I do not understand._**

A pair of large, white eyes stared up at him. A row of fangs cut across his mouth, a hint of a pink tongue peeking out. The end of it twitched back and forth as Venom considered the question and all its implications. 

Eddie shrugged. He waved a hand, cast his eyes up to the sky, and let his thumb brush over the top of Venom's head. 

'Well, were you born? I was born June twenty-first.' 

There was a slight narrowing in Venom's eyes. Although Eddie knew that Venom understood what it was to be born and to be alive, but he wasn't sure if Venom understood the concept of a birth _day_. He lowered his head, twitched a little again as he turned the idea over, and shifted about in Eddie's hands. Bowing his head, he nudged it against the curve of Eddie's palm. Not needing further encouragement, Eddie began to stroke his head. 

**_I was... born,_** he said slowly, as though putting the idea on like an unfamiliar shirt. There was a flicker in his expression that was difficult to read with the way he rubbed against Eddie's hand. **_In a manner of speaking._**

Eddie had begun to suspect that Venom wasn't born the way most Earth creatures were. He'd briefly considered that Venom may have very well been hatched, but the wonder at which he watched Eddie crack eggs in a fry pan suggested otherwise. His predilection towards unhinging his jaw and swallowing eggs whole when he was in this shape was also a little disturbing, and Eddie did hope Venom wasn't actually hatched. 

'When?' 

**_We do not measure time the way you do._**

Venom had a point. Even so, a trickle of disappointment went through Eddie as he sat with that knowledge. 

In his hands, Venom moved again. 

The ocean was coming in. As the minutes had passed, he'd begun to feel the water start to lap higher up his ankles. It was almost up to the cuffs of his jeans. Pointing his feet and then flexing them, he kicked them back and forth. With a heavy sigh, Eddie closed his eyes and lifted his head. His skin was definitely going to burn. 

**_Shall I show you?_**

Eddie thought the word _yes_ , but didn't have a chance to utter it. In his hands, he felt Venom's general mass shrink as he partly absorbed into his skin. 

Colours bloomed behind Eddie's eyelids. A dusky rose filled his vision. For a moment, he let the colour burn there, before he began to recall it as the sky from the planet on which Venom was born. When he turned his head, the world moved with him. He could look around, at the swarming mass of symbiotes that surrounded him, the bubbling ocean, the hazy mist that clouded the air, thick and cloying. 

His gaze returned to the sky. As though a hand was being wiped over it, the pink hue disappearing. In its place emerged a black night sky. Eddie reeled back, instinctively taking a breath as he expected all his oxygen to be sucked out. Wide-eyed, he stared up at the pitch black sky. Eddie had always lived in cities with atrocious light pollution, where the only light he'd see at night would be the streetlamps and perhaps the moon if the fog lifted. 

The night sky Venom showed him right then was not that. It was something vastly different. Where the electrical lights of New York City, Chicago and San Francisco created a curved halo effect around him, this night sky was a yawning, gaping hole. It was a void into which Eddie felt like he was on the precipice of falling. He half expected to see an event horizon in the distance. 

Instead, there was a planet. It looked like Saturn, a majestic, golden sphere that was hanging in the distance. It pulled Eddie towards it, coaxing him up, out of the ocean. Behind it, he swore he could see a pinprick that may have been a star. 

The sky waved again. 

He was on the planet. The sky was filled with stars. The pinprick he had see on the edge of the sky was ever so slightly larger. It glowed a deep yellow, half a shade darker than Earth's own sun. Venom was connecting the stars in his mind, showing him an image that may have been a symbiote's version of a star map. He drew lines across the sky, piecing together pictures like a jigsaw puzzle that, all too late, Eddie realised were the same ones he had learnt some twenty-five odd years ago as a child in school. Constellations. 

Ursa Major. 

Ursa Minor. 

Scorpio. 

Lyra. 

Venom found what he was looking for. As though he was being grabbed by the front of his shirt, Eddie was sucked forward. The stars spiralled around him. Eddie tried to scream but nothing came from him. The force of the pull was damn near physical and nausea built up in his throat, pressure grew in his eyes. 

Another planet. A lush green forest surrounded him. The branches of foreign trees reached up around him, towering over him like horrific beasts from a childish nightmare. Eddie couldn't tell if he was his usual height or simply incredibly small. 

It didn't matter. His eyes were on the night sky again. He found another constellation. Another pull. 

Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Scorpio, Lyra. 

A third planet, this one cold and wet. 

Ursa Major, Minor, Scorpio, Lyra. 

A fourth. 

UrsaMajorMinorScorpioLyra. 

He was being dragged through space, hopping from planet to planet. The worlds spun around him. He was dizzy, he was ill, he was trying to take it all in. He didn't understand the logic to what Venom was doing, he didn't understand what was happening. He wasn't even sure if he was on Earth anymore. The sound of the crashing ocean had disappeared to the rushing wind in his ears as he was jettisoned through foreign atmospheres, as the vacuum of space stole the air from his lungs and the sweat from his brow. 

A comet. It hurtled through the void of space, through asteroid belts, around planets, around a strangely familiar yellow sun that calmed Eddie. It was cold, it was icy, it was filled with symbiotes. Eddie looked about. There was no way of telling where the stars were on this. There was no atmosphere. Just a bright yellow disc that pulled them around. 

And then Earth. 

A night sky. 

The ocean. 

Up ahead, an explosion was taking place. Fire and debris were raining down as the water lapped at him. Yes, it was him. Not Venom, but _him_. Wet clothes clung to him, but it was warmer than other worlds. And, up above, was the sky. 

A hand washed over it. The cloud cover was pushed away and it revealed a luscious array of stars. The Milky War filled the night sky in a way Eddie had never seen before, not even in magazines. The sky was so bright, so impossibly, wondrously bright. Staring, part in a dream, part in a memory, he floated on the surface of the ocean and took it in. 

Ursa Major. 

Ursa Minor. 

Scorpio. 

Lyra. 

He was pulled back. Down, underwater. Salt water filled his lungs, sediment hit his feet. 

He broke free. 

Florida. Eight years earlier. Anne had her hair cropped to her ears. She was laughing. She took off her swimsuit top. Eddie looked up. The night sky. Several stars seemed brighter than they really had been that night. 

Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Scorpio, Lyra. 

Back through the water. The back of a jetski. His arms were tight around a college friend as they went along a bay in Mexico. Eddie looked up. 

Ursa Major, Minor, Scorpio, Lyra. 

Back again. Summer camp, seventh grade. Sitting in the middle of the forest, the campfire long since gone out. The Milky Way was visible. It was lighter than it had been (or, rather, than it would be). It was as though someone had tried to clean a paintbrush and it still had flecks of white and blue in it. Eddie stared at it until he was told to go to bed. 

UrsaMajorMinorScorpioLyra. 

Back. 

Eddie was five. The front door was unlocked. His father was home, but he wasn't _home_. He was still in the car. The headlights were on and were beaming right into his bedroom window. Eddie left the front door and walked across the snow-filled front lawn to rouse his father from the car. It had been unseasonably cold for mid-December, and he could recall his father saying they might have snow for Christmas. There was black ice. He slipped. Fell. When it had occurred, he had cried, but now he just laid there and looked up at the sky. 

Somewhere to the right of Ursa Minor, there was a flash of pink. The memory froze and Venom caused that light to grow brighter, until it filled the sky. 

**_I was born now._**

Five-year-old Eddie closed his eyes. The bright, pink light was burned into his eyelids. He didn't know it yet, but one day he would have a friend who warmed him. 

Tears prickled the back of Eddie's eyelids. He'd laid on the frozen ground and cried. Now he sat on a rock off China Beach, water soaking his jeans. The mass of black in his hands had slid up and was crawling up, over his chest to lick at his face. 

**_I'm here. I've got us._**

Clutching Venom to his chest, Eddie burrowed his face into the twisting, shapeless form. The black became an oil slick of purples and blues, a glittering mass that seemed flecked with silver. Eddie told himself it was just the spray from the ocean, simply residue from Venom's body that seemed to attract humidity, and that the tears that fell weren't from him. 

Eddie told himself that and Venom didn't question it. 

* 

_To: jack.d@mnbn.oathinc.com_

_From: ebrock82@outlook.com_

_Subject: Next Story_

_Hey Jack,_

_it's me. haven't heard from you recently. I've got a new article for print_

* 

_~~To: jack.d@mnbn.oathinc.com~~_

_~~From: ebrock82@outlook.com~~_

_~~Subject: Re: Next Story~~_

_~~Hi Jack,~~_

_~~Hope you're well.~~_

_~~How's~~_

_~~Please don't make me do TV~~_

_~~I have converted to amishism~~_

* 

Eddie ran. 

The sun was up by the time he started. The sky was a watercolour design of beauty. It took him some time to realise, as he started down his usual path. He typically started by running west, towards the ocean. As he turned a corner, went north, and then east, he came across the sunrise. Up his usual, comforting hill, the sky lighting up like birthday candles. Keeping his head up, he furrowed his brow until he reached the crest and stopped to gaze about. 

His pace slowed. The lactic acid in his legs caused him to shake them out. His run became a slow jog, one where he could look around. Another runner nodded at him and Eddie returned the gesture, even managing a lopsided, unsure smile. He wasn't even sure where he was going. He'd continued straight once he'd reached the bottom of the hill. Right went towards his long loop, left headed back home. He'd never gone straight ahead before. The ocean was straight ahead, towards the west. 

The dawn continued to break and Eddie couldn't help but think he was looking back at Venom's eyes. Soft pinks, soft blues, soft purples. With a small note of realisation, he realised he was heading towards Presidio and China Beach, both roughly an hour run from his home. Down Lake Street, acutely aware that the Golden Gate Bridge was somewhere to his right. He fell into a lazy rhythm as he continued west, the sun rising behind him. 

As his feet hit the pavement, down the slow, easy crest of the street, Venom purred in the back of his mind. He didn't understand, but he felt the deep calm that had spilled through Eddie. 

**_This,_** he murmured. **_I like this._**

A deep zen spread through the two of them. A wash of warmth and relaxation. Over and over, their legs moving as one, Venom hugging his muscles close. As the sun grew overhead, it beckoned people out, coaxing them outside to enjoy the day. People on their way to work, students on their way to school, families out to play. 

They reached China Beach. Eddie wondered how long it would take them to get home, but he found he didn’t mind. Venom would help. 

Slowing to a walk, wiping sweat from his upper lip with the back of a hand, he let his breathing even out. Venom chittered and twisted between his vertebrae, low in his spine. Licking his lips, tasting salt, he felt Venom nudge at his chin and tilt his face up. A young girl on a bicycle with uneven training wheels was steering towards him. He swore he knew her from somewhere, but couldn’t place it. 

She spotted him when she was six feet away and tried to swerve. The bicycle teetered, threatening to topple over. Lunging forward, Eddie caught the handlebars with one hand, her shoulder with the other. Carefully, he held her up and smiled. Eyes wide, she righted herself and studied him. 

‘Keep going. You’ll get it,’ he said, his voice rough from disuse. 

She grinned at him, gap toothed and wide, before pedalling off. 

* 

_To: jack.d@mnbn.oathinc.com_

_From: ebrock82@outlook.com_

_Subject: Re: Re: Next Story_

_Hey Jack,_

_Hows it going? is anthony still stuck on the TV slot?_

* 

_To: ebrock82@outlook.com_

_From: t.maloney@vicemedia.com_

_Subject: Re: Eddie Brock – Submission_

_Hello, Eddie,_

_Thank you for your submission – Janice, who took your interview, passed me your details after your interview on Tuesday._

_This might be a little unusual, but would you be able to come by tomorrow at 3pm? I'd love to catch up with you in person and see what direction you'd like to take. There's a bistro just downstairs (I can vouch for the mocha!)._

_PS – Janice mentioned you were getting your own website up and running – is this finalised? We can start link-forwarding on our end :-)_

_Kind regards,_

_Tyrone Maloney_

_Editor-in-chief – Human Interest_

* 

_~~To:~~_

_~~From: ebrock82@outlook.com~~_

_~~Subject: GET FUCKED~~_

_~~to the biggest asshole ive ever had the misfortune of calling my employer~~_

* 

_To: jack.d@mnbn.oathinc.com_

_From:eddie.b@brockmedia.com_

_Subject: Cessation of Future Ventures_

_To Mr De la Cruz,_

_It is my regret to inform you that due to a conflict in interest_

* 

Venom took him out to Mount Hamilton for his birthday. They spent the better part of an hour and a half to get there on his bike, as they tore through the highways and streets of the greater San Francisco area. They neared the Lick Observatory, Eddie taking note of the signage. Venom was in control, his hands gripping the handlebars of the bike, Eddie's own encased in them. 

Up they went, the cool, summer, night air refreshing after the humid day. Eddie even dared to shut his eyes, allowing Venom to take the lead. He knew the city was down below in the distance, the sun setting behind them. He just wanted to enjoy the ride, up and up, away from the city. It was only a small reprieve. It wouldn't be long until they had to turn around and head back. 

They reached Copernicus Peak as the sun finally set. Eddie couldn't see much, and he wished they had brought a flashlight. Venom held no such concerns. He wrapped around Eddie in lieu of a leather jacket and guided him up a path only he could see. Looking about, trying to make sense of where they were going, Eddie tilted his head up and back. It was quiet on the hill. Eddie had expected more for a Friday evening in June, but that didn't seem to be the case. 

**_May I?_** Venom asked, tiny tendrils tapping on the side of Eddie's face. 

He nodded. 

As they made their way up the path and towards the crest of the peak, Venom's tendrils began to wrap over Eddie's face. They were cool, refreshing, and Eddie gave a small noise of satisfaction. By the time Venom had found a suitable patch of grass, devoid of uncomfortable sticks and twigs and stones, his body was covered in a thin sheen of Venom's skin. It wasn't the large, hulking mass that Venom usually took on when he was protecting Eddie. This was more like he was being held by a series of tendrils, vines that wrapped around him lovingly, comfortingly. 

Venom looked up at the sky. Eddie's eyes closed behind the large, white markings, though he could still see. The light pollution from the city left a hazy, lavender-grey glow over the sky. It reminded him a small bit of the markings on Venom's skin, the off-white veins and patches that covered his body. Eddie liked to run his fingers over them when he was thinking. 

**_Stop,_** Venom whispered in the back of his mind. **_Thinking._**

'You are?' 

**_You. You are._**

Eddie wasn't sure how he could stop thinking, but he willed himself to instead focus on the clouds up above them. A faint, grumbling noise came from Venom as he looked at the sky. Then, with a tiny click of his tongue, the clouds seemed to melt away. 

No, that wasn't entirely correct. Now that he could witness it happen, it was less like the clouds were gone, and more than he (well, _Venom_ , really) was peering through them. It was like he was looking past a flyscreen door and into the yard outside. 

The stars in the night sky were by the thousands. Eddie couldn't possibly count them all. He'd never seen such a thing, not in all his adult years. The Milky Way cut across the sky in a streak of lavender and blue and white. Taking in a deep breath, he curled his hands into his chest. He could feel Venom's claws at the ends of his fingers dig into his skin, but Venom didn't flinch. The wispy threads that ran either side of it cut through the blackened depths like a slice through the universe. 

Eddie lay there, clutching his chest as he tried to drink it in. It was impossible to reason with it. He felt small, _so_ small. Venom held him, his tendrils tightening as Eddie's eyes danced over the sight above them. Murmuring to himself, Eddie took a deep breath and looked over the constellations. 

Ursa Major. 

Ursa Minor. 

Scorpio. 

Lyra. 

He tried to memorise their positions. He knew he didn't need to—Venom would take care of that for him. But he wanted to at least try. 

**_My birthday gift to you,_** Venom purred in his mind. 

A feeling of utter warmth swelled within Eddie. Releasing his hands from Venom's chest, he wrapped them tighter around his body, hugging himself. And, by extension, he was hugging Venom. The tendrils grew tighter in turn, the end of one rubbing up and down his bicep. 

Closing his eyes, he was able to block out the world. The galaxy above remained seared into his mind, as did the constellations. The beauty of the world continued to exist outside his small realm; all Eddie had to was look for it. 


End file.
